


Tease The Crowd, Please The Crowd

by EllesAlwaysWriting



Series: OT12 Archives [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllesAlwaysWriting/pseuds/EllesAlwaysWriting
Summary: Xiumin indulges in the most taboo of taboos a strip club employee can: going home with a regular.





	Tease The Crowd, Please The Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> 2/??? of a miscellaneous collection of oneshots and drabbles I found in the nostalgic depths of my EXO folder. All works were written between July 2013 - August 2015 and featuring all twelve original EXO members in one way or another.
> 
> Originally written in November of 2013, this oneshot was inspired by the depressing lack of this pairing at the time, and Xiumin pretending to be a stripper at any time he could. Title taken from "Stripper" by Soho Dolls.

Xiumin was awoken by the loud, steady buzz of a vacuum cleaner and a middle-aged woman somehow humming _Amazing Grace_ over the sound. It would have been nice, could have been nice, because the woman’s high pitch reminded him of his mother's singing, but the pounding in his head dictated his response before his manners could adjust.

“Wha - ? What the hell?!” he scrambles quite clumsily to pull the duvet from over his head, accidentally startling the woman.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” she shouts in English, “I saw Mister leave this morning, I thought the room was empty - I’m so sorry,” she repeats, hurriedly collecting the pieces of the vacuum and closing the bedroom door behind herself.

He wonders why she only seemed to have glanced at him once before blushing profusely and rushing out, heavily accented _sorry_s trailing behind her. As he hears the closing of the suite’s door echo through the den, he flips and shimmies his way out of the sheets tangled around him and steals a look at his reflection in the chrome headboard. _Oh._ He’s naked, of course_._

He shrugs, rubbing his eyes and searching the floor for his clothes, but only finds his shoes placed neatly beside the closet. The bed was a California King, it’s no wonder why he'd mistaken him for just another lump in the ruffled covers. Figures. He stretches, back arched with fingers locked behind his back, shamelessly admiring himself further in the reflective finish of the headboard again. A little vanity should be expected with the kind of night he had. There’s a note on the bedside table, beside his phone and a couple of empty champagne flutes.

_Good morning._

_I’ll be in Seoul for most of the day, help yourself to whatever you like. I should be back by six...stay for dinner? It’d be nice to get to know you better since we didn’t really talk much last night…_

_Kris_

The crudely drawn heart at the bottom of the paper made him chuckle. It almost looks as if he tried to scribble it out. He’ll take it, anyway.

He takes a quick shower after battling with the temptation to order the most expensive dishes on the lunch menu and busies himself while waiting for room service to deliver it. Somehow he ends up in a white button-down that’s three sizes too big after he finds his clothes, pressed & hung neatly in the spacious walk-in closet. Accidentally, of course, because he _totally_ wasn’t snooping through this guy’s clothes. No way. He decides to keep it on, anyway. He likes the way it hangs around the middle of his thighs, how the long sleeves hide most of his small hands and dainty fingers. He’s having too much fun striking Pin-Up poses in the mirror to hear the door opening. The bellhop seems just as startled as the maid was by the small man challenging Bettie Page he encounters as he’s rolling the cart into the room. At least he’s wearing underwear this time, although it’s thoroughly concealed. Perhaps it’s just their unfamiliarity with him. He was the physical polar opposite of the master suite’s owner, after all.

As he eats cross-legged on the suede armchair in the corner of the den, he finds time to finally take in his surroundings. He admires the stunning view from the balcony windows, skyline seamlessly melting under the fog and over the mountains far off from the city. He could only remember seeing bits and pieces of this particular room in a dark, drunken haze before he was manhandled into the bedroom. He wonders how much better it looks at night, with the moon shining in through the wide balcony windows. He’s still trying to figure out if he’ll be around late enough to find out. Everything was white and sterile looking, oddly shaped glass vases and fresh lilies on every table, eggshell painted wood framing the wide plasma screen on the wall. Not a speck of dirt in sight. He immediately feels self-conscious, like he should have let the maid sweep him into her dustpan before running out. He didn’t belong here. It reminds him of the first time he noticed the tall, well-dressed man sitting in one of the booths in front of his platform at work…

He was already a bit of a spectacle compared to the rest of the patrons because of his age, his stature, his passive attitude…he looked more like an employee than a client. The steam-pressed casual suit, the bored yet somehow pissed off expression, the minimal movement – he didn’t seem to belong either. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Xiumin’s coworkers wasted no time expressing their jealousy when he began frequenting the club.

“Why do I always get stuck with the grabby old perverts while you get mysterious bitchface hottie?” Tao sighed, leaning against the cool lockers in the dressing room.

“Would you stop calling him that? He does have a name…”

He was pouting when Xiumin looked up at him, cooling himself with a horribly decorated Geisha fan. Another prop their manager had quite literally pushed him to start using during his dances (oh, Americans and their funky fetishes). He only hates it a little bit. It was a hell of a lot better than the full-blown Mulan rendition he used to do. “Yeah, I know, but until he talks to me I’m going to continue to call him mysterious bitchface hottie.” He plops down on the sofa behind Xiumin with a dramatic groan, tapping him on the back of his thigh when he sighs at the younger dancer. “Why doesn’t he like me?” he whines childishly.

Xiumin chuckles, continuing to fuss with his hair in the mirror. “How am I supposed to know? Ask him yourself.”

“Why are you so hung up on this guy when you have dozens of regulars?” Baekhyun asks from his position against the door frame, words a little muffled around the lollipop in his mouth. “You’re such an attention whore!”

Tao responds with a certain finger that Baekhyun quickly returns.

“Maybe he only likes GoGo boys,” Luhan adds as he seemingly materializes beside Xiumin at the vanity mirror. He jumps like he always does; he never really sees Luhan coming, he’s just suddenly…_there_. “He’s too pure for whores like us, honey.” Tao whines again as he buries his face in a pillow, Xiumin guesses, because Luhan is now completely blocking his view as he molds himself around him.

“Well, that’s cruel discrimination!” he groans.

“I’m sure he’s just as dirty as all the others. Don’t break his poor little heart, Lu,” Xiumin shushes, shifting away from Luhan a little. He only closes the gap. Luhan’s never been good at taking subtle hints.

“Kris only has eyes for Minnie, it doesn’t matter if he’s stripping bare or not,” Baekhyun comments, sucking his lollipop back into his mouth. “Although I’m sure he’s pictured you naked plenty of times.”

“I know I have,” Luhan whispers lewdly into Xiumin’s shoulder. He sneaks a kiss onto his skin before Xiumin pushes him away softly. He laughs, winking as he backs away and glides passed Baekhyun out the door.

“Okay, okay, enough. Can we stop talking about this? That guy creeps me the fuck out, anyway.” Lying about Kris became a bit easier every time he found himself dodging his coworkers’ comments.

“Well, prepare to be petrified,” Baekhyun says as Luhan’s disembodied arms form a ring around his neck, tugging him out of sight, “Mr. Long-Tan-And-Brooding is already upstairs at his favorite table…”

Kris is chatting nonchalantly with the bartender Yixing when Xiumin comes upstairs to start his shift, turns out the two went to the same school back in Beijing. His sentence fades out prematurely when he lays eyes on Xiumin strolling past nonchalantly. Yixing snaps his fingers in front of his face when his eyes follow. There’s that heat crawling over his face, the kind of blushing Xiumin’s only use to causing when he dances. Seeing a guy as attractive as Kris shamelessly sweat over him was a major ego booster. Yixing continues blabbing next to Kris as Xiumin steps onto the neon platform directly behind them, and finally smacks Kris in the chest and leaves when he realizes he’s no longer of interest.

Kris seems to come to the gentlemen’s club on the third week every month, always looking overpriced in his perfectly tailored attire and hunks of silver dawning his fingers and neck, always giving Xiumin his undivided attention. He wonders how long he had been keeping up with this routine because he only noticed him a few months ago, but Tao’s been gushing about a ‘mysterious bitchface hottie’ for over a year, at least. He never felt the need to cater to the men in the audience like the boys on the main stage, he was just a moving prop by entertainment standards. Most patrons barely notice there’s no glass separating his slot of the wall from the rest of the club until he steps down to take his breaks. Of course, that didn’t stop people from interjecting themselves into his workspace when they did realize. Luhan would often hop onto Xiumin’s platform during his dances, drawing a little more attention to his side of the club as he grinded against him with a lovesick puppy dog expression. Xiumin doesn’t mind, the extra tips are enough to make up for his embarrassment and having to shoo away horny drunks who mistake him for a stripper – and even hornier drunks that mistake him for a prostitute masquerading as a stripper. Well, that last assumption happens more than most, even without the club’s golden boy licking his abs on stage.

He originally pegged Kris as one of those lonely types, considering how he never seemed as enthusiastic as the other regulars, and often chatted Xiumin up during his breaks like he didn’t just watch him hump a pole in his underwear for six hours straight. Xiumin was waiting for the day he’d slip up and let one of his compliments slip into a loaded invitation, the kind that boys like Baekhyun & Tao rejected left and right dozens of times a night…

“You know I’m not a prostitute, right?”

Kris looked genuinely stunned that he’d hopped to that conclusion. It wasn’t _that_ far-fetched. He’d gotten offers like that before, sugarcoated versions of _I feel like you owe me something so don’t be surprised by what I’m expecting_.

“And I don’t do private parties,” he finishes with a chuckle, flicking his cigarette into the trash can outside the club’s entrance.

“I didn’t ask you to sleep with me,” he deadpans, still leaning against the brick wall of the alley. “I asked if you wanted to grab a bite to eat. Besides, I don’t think you’re allowed to dance on the tables at IHOP, anyway…”

Xiumin thinks he should have thought a little more before accepting the offer. I mean, he was essentially agreeing to be alone with his stalker. His sweet, attractive, suave, wealthy, successful-at-whatever-the-fuck-he-does stalker. The last time a guy waited for his shift to end he had to quite literally beat him off, but Kris was just standing there, as attentive as ever with a safe distance between them and…_ugh, I’m gonna regret this, I just know it…_

He wasn’t regretting it so far.

Six o'clock was approaching too quickly, and even though Xiumin couldn’t recall any major red flags going up during the night, he wanted to see if he could learn more about his mysterious suitor before jumping into bed with him again. As he explored his office on the other side of the suite, he realized was actually a little more of an accomplished businessman than he led Xiumin to believe. His walls were covered in certificates and awards, all among photos of him shaking hands with a gaggle of Gangnam-types. That’s certainly new, he was used to guys trumping up their successes around him. Meanwhile, he could barely get a humble brag out of this guy last night. He found an old school picture of Kris and Yixing, which was a bit of a relief, because Yixing would believe the sky was bright purple if you were nice enough to him. Let’s see: smart, confident, successful, very attractive Chinese businessman, permanently reserved Presidential suite…and yet he spends most of his business trips to South Korea alone in the back of a gay strip club? That had to be the icing on the cliché cake.

Or so Xiumin thought.

He froze when he saw the ring sitting on top of the overturned picture frame on the corner of his desk. A smooth band of yellow gold, with a date etched into the underside.

_10.12.28_ ❤

It’s a wedding band.

“He’s married…?” Xiumin says out loud, the ring slipping from his hand and dropping into the desk with a clack. _How much more cliché could this guy get?_ He picks up the picture frame and turns it over. A shower of cherry blossoms surrounding a golden arch covered in vines, a couple standing arm-in-arm…it looks like the title card of a cheesy drama. He instantly recognizes Kris in one of his perfectly tailored suits, even with the long, black hairstyle significantly aging him. The woman standing next to him looks like a tiny baby doll: strapless white ball gown hugging her slim torso, rosy cheeks on fair skin, a bouquet of pink roses clutched in her dainty hands…she was breathtaking. But that doesn’t seem to matter to Kris. Because he most definitely forgot to mention that he was married last night. Xiumin’s not sure why he feels so indifferent towards this discovery…shouldn’t he feel guilty? A married man was balls-deep inside him last night…a married man that had been spending money on him for at least a year, not-so-silently pining after him. It’s not like he knew he was married. Hell, most of the married men he’s come across in his line of work were so unashamed of their infidelity that they flaunted their wedding rings as signs of their wealth & worth.

Xiumin wonders if they’re having problems. Maybe they’re estranged or separated or – wait, why is he making excuses for some guy he barely knows? How long had he been stringing this poor woman along? Why was he wasting his time wooing him when he literally had Miss Shanghai waiting for him at home? Kris is exactly the kind of guy he hated. Some adulterous, closeted asshole that used him to cheat on his porcelain statue of a –

“What are you doing?”

Xiumin jumps, clutching the picture to his chest as he stares at Kris in the doorway. “Uhh…I just…I was just looking around and – ” Okay, he was finally regretting his life decisions, because Kris looks very unconvinced and very annoyed as he shrugs closer. Seeing Kris in natural light, sunlight, was so different. Less striking than in strobe lights but not as washed out as in fluorescents of the diner or moonlight. Natural light should make him look a little softer. It doesn’t. Angelic, definitely, but the cut of his clenched jaw is still too sharp. And, yeah, Xiumin can admit he’s a bit intimidated. He actually jumps when he steps backward and feels his back flat on the bookcase.

Kris cages him against it, long arms bending as he leans down. “Were you going through my stuff?” he asks lowly, staring down at Xiumin, who was still clutching the picture frame as a means to protect himself.

He looks down at his feet, more ashamed than afraid for some reason. Or at least he tries, but it’s a little hard to see through the knee Kris had wedged between his thighs. “No – well, not r-really, I just – ”

Kris snatches the picture from him before he can form an answer completely. He places it onto the shelf above his head, barely looking at the photograph as he stands it up, then leans back down into Xiumin’s face. “You’re a really bad liar, Xiumin.” Voice still as even and monotone as ever, from what Xiumin can hear over his heart hammering at his ribs. Long fingers slide under his chin and he’s forced to look up at him. Instead of a scowl, there’s a small, bemused smile stretching at the corners of his mouth. “You look really cute in my shirt,” he says softly, dropping his other arm to wrap around Xiumin’s waist.

Xiumin blinks, confused by Kris’ sudden mood swing, but he can feel his cheeks burning even brighter under his gaze and honestly wishes he could stop the smile he returns. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” he nods, dragging Xiumin away from the bookcase and effortlessly hoisting him onto the desk.

Once again, Xiumin finds himself thinking with the wrong head as Kris kisses him, all forceful pushes of tongue and tight grips on his ass. He’s instantly taken aback, a little dizzy, but holds his own against the possessive hands pressing him back as his boxers are ripped away.

Kris’ hands cover his completely as he stops him from unbuttoning the shirt he borrowed.

“No…keep it on,” he says.

Xiumin raises an eyebrow, then smiles and wraps his hand around Kris’ wrist. He leads the middle and ring fingers into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them as Kris keeps busy tugging at his belt & pants.

Xiumin tries to forget that he’s the object of a married man’s affections, but it’s a little difficult to do when you’re staring at his disregarded wedding band as you’re bent over his desk. He knows he should feel a bit more penitent, ashamed of his spontaneous misdeeds, but his ego was a little too inflated to feel so. Plus, it’s hard to focus on anything else with Kris filling him completely, snapping his hips forward with such expert precision that his vision is blurring. He praises the Gods when the ring finally shakes off the edge and rolls under the desk.

It really is blessing that he’s taken, Xiumin thinks, because he’s already lost count of the bruises and hickeys he’s going to end up explaining to his co-workers tonight. The ones currently forming on the tops of his thighs from the edge of the desk will be particularly hard to ignore. And even though it happens all the time, it’s still a big N-O to sleep with the patrons of the club. His manager is probably going to throw a hissy fit when he finds out. _When_, because Tao definitely saw them leave together and immediately texted him his malice-laced praises…

¬_¬ **_Minnie u traitorous little mutt!! arent u alwys preaching 2 me abt going home w strange men?! Ugh…_**

**_tell me all abt it tmrrw tho, im so curious it hurts…_** ( ；´Д｀）

And if Tao knows, then Luhan knows, and he’s got a notorious track record of relaying everything to Baekhyun, the biggest gossip hound of all the gossip hounds. Xiumin might as well print it onto a thousand flyers and hand them out in the middle of the city. There’s no doubt in his mind that everyone will know before he even steps foot into the dressing room tonight. 

At least he can bet on at least one person never finding out about this…and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore her precious little cherub face as it stares back at him from the bookcase, watching her husband bury his cock in a new conquest. Her stiff smile suggests a vapid personality to him, and for a second he thinks Kris is well within his right to find someone like him, someone who actually sparks his interest. _Just the ego talking again,_ it’s easy to make excuses for a guy who just pulled three orgasms out of you. He ildy wonders what led him astray, how he's neglected her, how in the hell someone that small could possibly take this big of a dick on a regular basis..._more ego-stroking_. Still, he doesn’t feel as guilty as he thinks he should. He wants to feel bad, to be disgusted by Kris like any decent human being. He knows he should feel worse than this. He’s obviously not speaking from experience, but from stories he never asked to hear from his friends. Some told Xiumin that they became physically ill when finding out their sugar daddy was married with kids. Xiumin feels nothing, besides a little queasy from being tossed around and folded like a rag doll all night.

The air was thick and warm in the office now. Calm as they bathed in the afterglow, listened to each other’s breathing and felt their own pulses return to normal. Kris sat in his desk chair, sweat clinging his clothes to his body in every area except around his unbuttoned, hanging trousers. Xiumin, now uncomfortably damp in Kris’ large shirt, is tracing along his prominent collarbones, sneaking in kisses to his neck and the bottom of his jaw as he straddles his hips. Kris’ hands are motionless but firm against the small of his back, massaging up his spine every few minutes as if only to confirm he’s still conscious. Xiumin finally can’t take the silence anymore.

“You’re married,” he says against Kris’ shoulder. It was supposed to come out more eloquent and as a question. _Oops._ It feels as if Kris’ heart skipped a beat under his fingertips before he shifts awkwardly. Xiumin can feel a glare burning into the top of his head, and in a continuance of sudden bravery, he looks up at Kris and continues. “You’re fucking married and you…just – we just…I don’t understand,” he glances at picture frame again and sighs deeply, “you look so happy…”

Kris only stares back, face crinkled in either offense or annoyance, Xiumin can’t really tell. “Looks can be deceiving,” he says somberly. Almost regretfully. “It was arranged by our parents…she’s a lovely girl, but we’re just not exactly…_compatible_.”

“Obviously,” Xiumin mumbles, and when Kris’ eyes narrow he decides it’d be best to just stop talking and go back to playing with the cuff links of his shirt. “I mean, you’re gay, right? I’m sure your _female_ wife has a bit of a problem with – ”

“She knows.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah…” He shrugs. Like that’s a normal thing. His wife knows he’s…_okay._

There’s no more talking after that…Xiumin doesn’t really think he can top that. _Boy, Tao’s really gonna get a kick out of this…_

There is another make out session, prompted by Kris looking so desperate for the subject to change that Xiumin takes pity on him. He’s hesitant, like the first time they kissed outside of the hotel, but eventually slides back into the _smooth operator_ persona Xiumin was used to seeing. He didn’t really like seeing Kris be vulnerable. He supposes that this is okay, shamelessly indulging now that the itsy bitsy bit of guilt he had felt was lifted. The possibility that Kris was lying did cross his mind. I mean, what woman is fine with her husband a) being gay or b) randomly picking up exotic dancers at seedy strip clubs?

He decides not to bring it up anymore, it was barely his business and he really didn’t want to ruin the mood right about now. He owes it to himself to have a little fun with this, act on his fantasies like anyone else. He chooses to suppress his curiosities, mask them as soft moans against the shoulder pad of Kris’ blazer as he rides him roughly in the office chair with his earnest and secretly hopes this won’t be the last night he spends inside the big, fancy Presidential suite he doesn't belong in.


End file.
